


And Then You Play With Nuts

by Roga



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Holidays, Jewish Holidays, M/M, Pesach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-06
Updated: 2010-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-13 13:17:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roga/pseuds/Roga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Kradam Passover! Where Kris is evil and makes lots of bad puns. This is nothing new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Then You Play With Nuts

**Author's Note:**

> Passover fic posted in Hanukkah, because I fail at timing /o\ Warning for blasphemy, and, uh. Happy Hanukkah!

"Kris."

It's kind of hard to speak with Kris's tongue taking up all the room in Adam's mouth, but Adam gives it his best shot anyway. "Kris," he repeats. If it comes out kind of desperate it's totally not his fault. "Kris, if we don't leave five minutes ago my mother is going to kill me."

"Mm-hmm," Kris agrees, and begins sucking on Adam's neck, his body pasted to Adam's and limbs snaking their way around him like a weirdly sexy octopus and Adam really really wants to stay here, like, forever. Kris is a fucking bastard. A tiny, hot, cuddly, not-very-secretly sadistic bastard.

"Okay, fuck," Adam pants when Kris's hand somehow manages to sneak down Adam's waistband. "We have to go. Now." Adam gathers strength from some deeply buried reserve he hadn't even known existed and puts his palm against Kris's chest, pushing him away. His fingers can't help but rub against Kris's chest a little -- Kris has _really_ nice pecs, okay, even through the thin cloth of his shirt -- so the gesture ends up being not so much firm as it is pathetic, but it's enough to get the point across. "We're going."

Kris pouts. Adam only barely stops himself from biting Kris's bottom lip. "You know," Kris says sadly, "on any other night you'd blow off punctuality in order to, you know. Blow _me_."

Adam barks out a laugh. "This night is different from all other nights." He pulls Kris in closer, leans in so their foreheads are touching, and drops his voice an octave. "When we're back, I'm going to blow you against the wall, and fuck you against the couch, and do whatever else you want on however many surfaces in the apartment you can think of, and it's all going to be very, very non-kosher. I promise. Now come on," he says, smacking a kiss to Kris's brow and grabbing his hand. "Four thousand years of tradition are waiting to embrace you into the family, and they're going to be pissed if we're late."

They make it in time -- just barely -- and Adam's mom is pacified enough by the gift he brought the hosts (Adam still doesn't actually have a clue what the package contains, Kris picked it out) that she forgives him for missing all the pre-dinner schmoozing. Adam pulls Kris down to a chair next to him, glances impatiently at the clock -- five minutes past seven -- and his uncle starts to read.

When Adam was a kid, he had a theory that Passover seders existed in a kind of annual self-contained time warp -- it's possible that he and Neil had read too many comic books as children -- because nothing else could explain the fact that the hour-long ceremony it took to get to the food felt as long as forty years in the figurative desert.

The seders of his childhood, however, have nothing on the long, tortuous drag of this one, because Adam's boyfriend is a sadistic fuck and has apparently decided that the Haggadah isn't so much a significant spiritual text as it is the Great Jewish Book of Innuendo. Kris keeps murmuring _really_ fucking dirty commentary in Adam's ear, and before they're even halfway through Adam is so turned on he doesn't even care about the food anymore, he just wants the meal over with so he can take Kris home and fuck him five ways from Sunday.

"And they were these," Aunt Debbie is saying. "Blood. Frogs. Lice." The children are all dipping their fingers in glasses of wine and licking the drops off giddily. Not so Kris Allen, who apparently thinks the Lambert holiday dinner table is an opportune time to publically molest himself.

"Kris," Adam hisses, as the list of plagues continues in Aunt Debby's slow monotone. "Could you maybe try to not give your fingers head in front of my family?"

Kris's eyes widen innocently, and his finger pops out of his mouth. "Are you using the 'children might be watching' argument on me? That's kind of ironic."

"Not children," Adam says tightly, "just my mother and my brother and my creepy cousins from Idaho. Just," he grabs Kris's hand before he manages to fellate himself again, "fucking stop it."

Neil knows what's up -- he _has_ to know what's up, because he keeps looking over at Kris and Adam and cracking up. And because Neil's mission in life is to make Adam's life a living hell, he keeps interrupting the reading to ask stupid questions that Adam's uncle takes eons to answer, with all the other parents fucking quivering with delight at the prospect of educating their children about the meaning of the holiday. Adam is seriously dying here.

"Manna," Adam snaps, after Neil asks another stupid question for the tenth time. There's a shocked pause as, in a synchronized move, everyone turns to stare at Adam. "It was the manna," he clarifies slowly. "They started eating it on the fifteenth day of the second year. It tasted like wafers with honey. Can we get on with this?" he adds, because really, this seder needs to _end_.

Neil rolls his eyes. "You're a Biblical scholar now?"

"I played Joshua in the desert," Adam reminds him through clenched teeth. Adam's mom raises an amused eyebrow and Neil looks like he's having the time of his life, and Adam slumps back in his seat. "This will never be over," he groans quietly to Kris.

Kris gives him a strange look in return. "So you can quote, like, scripture and stuff?"

"I swear, next year I'm just getting everyone DVDs of the musical as a contemporary substitution for the Haggawait, _what_?" Adam's eyes snap to Kris's. They're dark and wide and weirdly hot. "Seriously. Exodus. This is what turns you on." Kris's hand begins to slide up Adam's thigh, and Adam claps a hand on it, stopping him. "You are such a freak."

"Mmm," Kris says, squeezing, and when Neil asks another stupid question Adam can't decide whether he's relieved at the distraction or whether he needs to shoot his brother _now_.

By the time they -- finally, _finally_ \-- get to the food, Adam can barely eat, he's so jumpy. Kris doesn't seem to have that problem.

He pokes Adam's side. "Look at my matza balls!" he says, eyes shining, and points at his soup, where he has arranged his two big matza balls around the top of a conspicuously phallic vegetable. He licks his lips. "Yum."

Adam wants to bang his head on the table. "You're hilarious," he says instead, but can't help smiling despite valiant efforts when Kris starts snickering to himself.

There are like twenty different courses so Adam loses count at some point, but eventually the last dishes segue into dessert and the children are all running around looking for the afikoman and Adam has run out of small talk for the next three years at least.

"Well," Adam says when the meal is over, "that was delicious, thank you so much--"

"Wait, dear, don't go yet," Aunt Debbie says. "We were thinking that maybe we could read the Haggadah the whole way through this year. We haven't done that in, oh, forever."

Adam freezes. "Really."

"It was Neil's suggestion," she says with a smile. For a moment Adam wishes he could actually shoot death rays from his eyes, and then wonders whether death rays would even work against the _spawn of the devil_ , no offence to Mom. Instead he kicks Neil under the table with the conveniently sharp point of his boot, and feels at least a small burst of satisfaction at Neil's wince.

The reading trudges on. Adam tries not to slouch too obviously, and also tries not to shift too much because by this point any extra friction will embarrass him in public.

"It's okay," Kris whispers in his ear, his breath soft enough to send shivers down Adam's spine. "I've heard that one of the traditions of the holiday is playing with nuts. If we stick around until the end, we could stay and play. With nuts. With all of the kids."

"I hate you." Adam reconsiders. "I hate everyone."

Kris licks his ear.

"Thank you, that was helpful."

He tries not to scowl as Kris ducks his head, literally shaking with mirth, and when hours and hours and hours or maybe fifteen minutes later they get to the longest song in the universe at the tail end of the Haggadah Adam decides that, "Screw it, we're getting out of here."

He grabs Kris's hand, which was trying to climb under Adam's shirt. Again.

Kris blinks up at him with wide eyes. "So soon?"

"Do not fuck with me, fucker," Adam growls, and then pastes an innocent expression on his face and gets up quietly, mouthing _Bathroom_ at his mom's curious glance.

He's careful not to make a noise when he sneaks out the back door. It isn't cold enough to be chilly, but it's still a welcome shock to his system to breathe some fresh air. Kris joins him outside a minute later. "I can't believe we actually snuck out," Kris says, looking impressed, and before he can say anything else Adam grabs him by the shirt collar and hoists him up against the wall, licking into his mouth with a moan that he _really_ hopes doesn't alert his mom. Kris kisses back, grinding against Adam and kind of trying to climb on top of him again, and when Adam finally pulls back with a last bite to Kris's lower lip, Kris actually whimpers.

"Home," Adam says, and three minutes later revises to "Or car, okay, car will do," and pulls over because it's either that or two very embarrassing obituaries in tomorrow's papers.

"You know," Kris says between kisses, straddling Adam in the backseat, "we could have stayed until the end. I was getting into it."

"Were you," Adam says distractedly. Kris is grinding down against him, making it very difficult to open his belt buckle. Thankfully Adam is somewhat of a pro.

"Mmm-hmm. I don't even—" Kris gasps when Adam finally presses a hand against his crotch, belt successfully neutralized— "uh, know—how the song ends, shit, _Adam_."

Adam smirks, and god, car sex is the most uncomfortable thing in the universe, but he manages to flip them around so that Kris is on his back, pushed up against the door with one of his legs sliding off the seat. Kris arches up but Adam holds down his hips, leans down to kiss his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. "It's pretty standard," Adam says, starting to work his way down Kris's chest, smooth and exposed through a now-unbuttoned crisp white holiday shirt. "Who knows thirteen?" He licks down Kris's sternum, "And twelve, eleven," Kris whimpers as Adam circles a nipple with his tongue, then another. "Ten, nine, eight, et cetera," he trails down, counting ribs, dipping his tongue into Kris's navel, finally pulling Kris's briefs down all the way.

"Ah, two," he murmurs, pleased, as Kris's breath hitches again above him, and dips down again to lick. Kris's thighs tremble beneath Adam's fingers, and Adam stretches it out before finally saying, "And who knows one?" and taking Kris into his mouth.

Kris's hips jerk up, his eyes squeezed shut as he lets out a groan. "Oh, _god_."

Adam pulls back with a satisfied smile, just long enough to say, "Pretty much, yeah," before diving back in.


End file.
